


(now that the calm's returned)

by Hinterlands



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Light Bondage, Remix, Restraints, angela is happy to oblige, fareeha needs to Let Go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:23:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8241209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinterlands/pseuds/Hinterlands
Summary: “Deep breaths,” Angela tells her, gentle teeth skimming her throat, one hand resting against the bare bottom curve of Fareeha’s ribcage, feeling the flutter of her lungs, the heat suffusing her skin.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [(No) Control](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7480332) by [agenthill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agenthill/pseuds/agenthill). 



_“Deep breaths,”_ Angela tells her, gentle teeth skimming her throat, one hand resting against the bare bottom curve of Fareeha’s ribcage, feeling the flutter of her lungs, the heat suffusing her skin.

 _Deep breaths,_ Fareeha’s head tipped back, nostrils flaring, eyes shut. Tension in her shoulders as she flexes her wrists against their bonds, feels the soft, scratchy slide of cotton against sinew; just enough give to the rope to stave off instinctual panic, and she brings her arms forward slightly, feels the knot catch the hole in the headboard, bowing it towards her, just slightly, a creaking reassurance. Pressure in her lower belly coiled down, congealing.

Angela’s errant hand pausing in its slow, downward incline, resting lightly against the hard plane of her belly, palm warm against her skin, slightly damp, invariably human; that, oddly enough, is a comfort. Fareeha’s eyes flicker open; Angela’s own are trained on her face, soft, expectant; words like wet cotton, sticking to the lining of Fareeha’s throat, jaws open and working, soundless.

( _She will not think less of you,_ she reminds herself, forcefully, silently; some small voice rattling at the back of her skull in dissent, not easily muted, whispers otherwise. Some dull buzzing insect sound, that’s all it is, and her throat _clicks_ as she moves to speak next.)

“Please.” Voice hoarse, but gaining strength. “I need this.” Breath stuttering in her throat as Angela’s hand rises to soft fingertips, nails ghosting down the wall of her abdomen, head dipping down, snagging a pert, dark nipple between her teeth, rolling it on her tongue. Fareeha clamps her teeth on a strangled sound, fingers curling in towards palms, face turned towards the ceiling. Insistent knee nudging its way between her thighs, spreading her wide, pressure just off the cusp of _enough_.

(It feels as though she’s been floating here, muscles gone to liquid, practically insensate, for _hours_ , languishing beneath the unhurried movements of Angela’s lips, the flat of her tongue; tightening of the jaw, a dark, circular impression of teeth upon her breast, sparks popping along the length of her spine. _Take control,_ Fareeha had told her, _let me pretend to be someone else for a time,_ and Angela had risen to it with an uncanny grace, drawing slow spirals down the length of her abdomen with the edge of one nail, flicking either of Fareeha’s nipples with her tongue, alternating with cool streams of air, dragging her up the precipice one slow, torturous inch at a time, only to let her teeter on the brink, without end. Maddening, and _wonderful_.)

Pressure increasing by a hair, Angela’s knee firm, now, her mouth shifting to the pulse-point of Fareeha’s throat, feeling her heart hammer rabbit-fast. “I don’t think it’s fair that I should do _all_ the work,” she says, little puffs of warm breath against Fareeha’s skin, voice husky, and the insinuation is immediately understood; still, Fareeha hesitates, breathing in fast, shaky, syrupy gulps. _Tell me,_ she thinks, an edge of desperation to the echo of it. _Tell me to do it. Let me be someone else._

“Go on,” Angela murmurs after a moment of silence, crystalline stillness. Slender fingers biting into the jut of Fareeha’s hip, teeth ghosting, breath hot, now, coming heavier. “What are you waiting for?” Sharp, now, commanding, and Fareeha gives vent to a hoarse groan, feels her hips undulate, the motions short, stilted, sloppy. Not enough purchase to establish a steady rhythm, not yet, but her hips still work, nails digging red crescent-moons into the meat of her palm. Not enough air in the room, surely, breath plucked from her lungs, cheeks burning as her back arches, straining.

No clemency from Angela as she lifts her head, catches Fareeha’s lips, kisses her insistently, open-mouthed despite the messy risk of teeth clashing, one hand still curved over Fareeha’s hip as the other woman rides her idle knee as best she can, straining forward, whole body shuddering with the effort of it, leaving wet impressions upon Angela’s skin. Shuddering breaths, winding closer, now (and isn’t it embarrassing that she’s ready to topple just from this?); Angela can feel it in the tension of her thighs, the forceful, erratic motions of her hips, and as Fareeha pulls in a sharp breath, teetering on the brink, awaiting the fall—Angela retracts her knee, pulls her head back, panting.

The sound that escapes the other woman is entirely involuntary, high and keening, indignation and hazy confusion mingling, and Angela can’t quite bite back a grin for Fareeha’s slack jaw and scrunched brow, hips giving a last jerk, involuntary, seeking blessed purchase and finding empty air. Tongue thick in her mouth, clumsy. “Why did you—?”

Idle squeeze of the hip, Angela’s breath sweet, ghosting over her lips. “This ends when _I_ decide it does. That was what we agreed upon, was it not?”

Flicker of something like embarrassment in Fareeha’s eyes as she shifts, flexes her wrists against the loop of rope binding them once more, almost absently. “Yes,” she replies after a moment, an almost unnoticeable warmth suffusing her face. “It was.”

“You’re doing well,” Angela murmurs, pressing a brief kiss to Fareeha’s sweat-slick forehead. “Careful, now. Breathe.”

(Fareeha’s _trying_ , but her heart is still beating a staccato rhythm against the curve of her ribcage, the air scorching her lungs, head swimming; the focus she lends to simply evening out her breath is such that she does not notice that Angela has slipped down the length of her body until she feels soft lips against the sticky skin of her inner thigh.)

Of course, Angela’s mouth meanders, trailing open-mouthed kisses to the edge of her before her head tilts, turns, lips pressed against the soft skin of her opposite thigh, teeth grazing; forbearance on Fareeha’s part, for a time, though eventually she makes a soft sound, low in her throat, arms pulled forward, headboard rebounding against the wall with a soft _thump_ as she lets the tension in her shoulders ease.

(She has a sneaking suspicion that Angela’s stifling a laugh against the meat of her upper thigh, but she can’t prove much from this position.)

Careful lean in, one long, slow swipe of the tongue, then, Fareeha’s teeth clamped on a breathless curse, Angela’s hand steady on her thigh. It goes on like this for a time, broad, smooth strokes with the flat of her tongue, top to bottom, steady, almost absent; Fareeha’s body seizes briefly as Angela drags over her clit, back arching, tugging forward. Quiet moan sticking in her throat as Angela reels back, just slightly, just enough to tease her clit from its hood and press a soft kiss to its peak, eliciting another throaty noise, fluttering down soft as ashes.

The movement of Angela’s head is sudden, lips sealing over the point of her clit, slow, hot suction, and Fareeha’s whole _body_ is wracked with the sudden hot pop-flash-spark of it, her head thrown back, jaw slack, low moans released in rapid succession. Angela groans, very softly, lets her tongue swirl once, twice, eyes on Fareeha’s face, the bow of her lips as she pants out a harsh, heavy breath, the splotchy flush climbing up the pillar of her throat, spasmodic tightening of the jaw as Angela flicks her tongue up, down, up, applies another heartbeat of suction, nails digging five thin crescents in the supple skin of Fareeha’s thigh—

—high, sharp, keening cry that almost makes her choke, Fareeha rising on her heels, head lolling to the side, arms yanking forward so far that the headboard’s creak sounds almost agonized. Hard _thud_ of wood against plaster as Fareeha goes slack, marionette-strings snipped, a sheen of sweat coating her skin. A moment of stillness, Angela’s tongue still extended, laid flat, before she pulls back, cautiously, everything south of her nose a glistening skin of slick. Surreptitious wipe of the mouth as Fareeha stirs, flexing her arms idly, glancing down at Angela with all evidence of satisfaction.

“Come here,” she murmurs, and the kiss she presses to Angela’s lips as she obliges is languid, all tension melted away. Soft smile playing at the edge of her mouth as she stretches out, touches her nose to the line of Angela’s jaw.

Deep breaths, a return to equilibrium, before Fareeha lets out a hoarse chuckle. “That,” she says, shifting her lips to the pulse-point of Angela’s throat, “Is just what I needed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are again!
> 
> First and foremost: I have to thank Rory (as always) for putting this idea into my head months ago, by sharing the opinion that Fareeha needs to cede control at times, and remind herself that she's not meant to always be staunch and stalwart; I was asked not to share this snippet when it was first created, because Rory had their own idea of where to take it (and of course, they had the right), but now that their (wonderful, breathtaking) fic (No) Control (which you most assuredly should read, and which has been linked above as inspiration) has been up for a time, I can share my version of it with you.
> 
> Title is from "Hurricane," by The Hush Sound.
> 
> As always, I hope you've enjoyed.


End file.
